


Exculpate

by dormiensa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: DH:EWE, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Plot Based on (Other) Book/Film, Post-Hogwarts, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius is suffering a premature deterioration of his health and Draco cannot come to terms with it.  Hermione is sympathetic, but she knows she needs to put an end to their estrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exculpate

**Author's Note:**

> Original pairing: Granny Weatherwax/Havelock Vetinari (Terry Pratchett’s _Discworld_ series).
> 
> Many thanks to my beta itsraa, who whipped this into shape!

“And while we’re on the subject of proper behaviour and decorum, might I remind you that, tedious as tonight’s Augury and Auspices may be in your eyes, it is nonetheless an important event in our circles, unlike those frivolous Weasel-kit gift-grabbing gatherings. You are a Malfoy, so a pretense at civility would be appreciated. I’m sure you’ll need the next few hours to make yourself presentable for the evening. Do not let me detain you.” With that, Draco turned and headed toward the library.

Hermione glared. She’d had enough of his nastiness. As he stalked along the highly polished floors, she conjured a banana peel and watched with satisfaction as he slid the entire length of the long hallway. There was nothing like a banana-induced slip to knock some sense into a person, as Fred would say. _Or knock out a lot of nonsense_ , she thought. As he attempted to get up, she cast a _Petrificus Totalus_ and smirked as he thudded to the floor a second time. She made her leisurely way until she loomed over his supine form.

“Haven’t the house-elves done a marvellous job scrubbing the floors like you’d demanded?” she asked him sweetly. “Perhaps I _should_ take back what I said about your draconian demeanour toward them.” She pondered his flashing eyes. “In any event, I’m going to ask Narcissa to tell the house-elves to stop taking any orders from you. She is, after all, the lady of the manor. Now, I’m going upstairs to ‘make myself presentable’; I’ll be down shortly to release you. Meanwhile, I’d like you to consider your own conduct for tonight. This is the first evening in a long time that Narcissa will have had out of the house since Lucius’ illness. If you ruin it...”

She took his exasperated huff as consent and called one of the house-elves to warn that Master Draco was not to be disturbed for the next hour. The house-elf looked nervous but, receiving no counter-order from the young master, assented. 

Hermione bent to peck Draco’s stone-faced cheek and then hummed as she climbed the stairs to their suite.

***

“It’s good to see Narcissa again. We really missed having her at the Lady’s Mantle Tea last month. How is Lucius?”

“Currently in stable condition, although his health deteriorated suddenly three weeks ago, hence why Narcissa had to cancel the Tea. Susan says this current phase could last up to two months, after which...”

“I see. One day at a time, then. Has he accidentally smashed any other priceless heirlooms?”

“No. He’s bedridden now. He can barely move his limbs and needs to be fed. Thankfully, he hasn’t yet had difficulty swallowing.”

“The chronology of decline really does seem to differ from one to the next. Did you hear that Calder Yaxley…”

“Yes.”

“So… that makes Lucius the last of the inner circle.” 

“Yes.”

“And… has Draco talked about it yet?”

“No, and it’s driving me mad! He’s clearly distressed about it, but no matter how I’ve tried to broach the subject, he just avoids. And he won’t even step foot into the room to see his father! That’s the worst bit. The regret he’ll feel when it’s too late…” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand. Also, the poor house-elves have been on the receiving end of his pent-up emotions. The tasks he’s been setting for them! Yesterday, he told them to polish the floors until he could see his reflection. I avenged them by making him slip on a banana peel across the main hallway just before we came.”

“What! And you didn’t Floo-call me to bear witness? I thought I was your friend, Mrs Draco Malfoy!”

“It wasn’t planned—I was fed up with his behaviour. If you have time tomorrow afternoon, Mrs Harry Potter, I’ll show you the memory.”

“It’s a date!” Pansy pasted on a fake smile and turned to the person who’d joined them. “Ah, Draco Lucius Malfoy, here to take your wife away from my evil influence again?”

“Good evening, Pansy. I hope you’re well. You must pardon me, but I _am_ prying my wife from your delightful company, though it is, in fact, to save _you_ from _her_ evil influence. I fear she has surpassed you. You really must put an end to all that goodness rubbing off from your husband.”

“Oh, piss off! You’re just sore he beat you to the Snitch again last week.”

“Is that what he told you? So _that’s_ where your Slytherin abilities have gone. I’m afraid we can no longer be friends, Panse. The shame! I could never live it down!”

“And what of the infamy of the Malfoy name?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Draco mirrored her sardonic look. “Oh, haven’t you heard? I’ve redeemed it, along with the family honour, by contracting a most advantageous marriage. Swotty war heroine with untameable hair, defender of the underprivileged, Saviour Potter’s best friend… perhaps you know her? Ow!”

Pansy slapped his other arm. “One of these days, your mouth is going to get you into such trouble that even Madam Granger-Malfoy can’t bail you out of it, Draco.”

“Well, my wife finds my mouth delightful. You should’ve seen how she squirmed the other night when—”

“Harry makes the most erotic moans when I suck his left nipple.” Pansy smirked at Draco’s look of horror while Hermione laughed.

“I could’ve died without knowing that, Panse!”

“Call me a goody Gryffindor, will you?”

“Fine! You haven’t _completely_ lost your Slytherinity. Excuse me while I Obliviate that disgusting mental image!”

“Have you forgotten you were stealing your wife away?” Pansy called after his hastily retreating back.

Draco stopped short. Then, turning, he smirked. “I suddenly recalled I never told Potter about the little incident of the pink rabbit infestation…”

***

Susan Bones accepted the cup of tea gratefully. After a quick sip, she said, “There’s been no change. He’s still stable. The Pain-relieving Potion is at a sufficient dose right now, and I don’t want to increase it so long as he can bear the slight underlying discomfort. How has his appetite been?”

“As well as can be expected. I took your advice and have the elves prepare whatever he wishes to eat. Of course, he’s not able to eat things that require too much effort to swallow, but otherwise…”

“Good. You’re looking better than the last I saw you, Mrs Malfoy. I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself.”

“Thank you, Healer Bones. I didn’t think I was doing that poorly, but the occasional excursions and evenings out have been very helpful.”

“Excellent! And remember that your well-being has a huge impact on Mr Malfoy’s health, indirectly as it may seem.”

“We both didn’t realize how much we’d missed the silly gossip until I updated him on news I’d gathered at Augury and Auspices. Don’t let on that I’ve told you, but Lucius is worse than a two-hundred-year-old biddy when it comes to loving gossip.”

Susan chuckled. “I find men generally are, even though they vehemently deny it.”

“Indeed.” Narcissa smiled as she recalled past conversations. Then, she sighed. 

“Is something wrong, Mrs Malfoy?”

“No... Yes.” Narcissa sighed again. “Draco still cannot accept the situation. And neither Hermione nor I have been able to talk to him.”

“Oh dear.” Susan hesitated. “I… didn’t want to make this suggestion earlier on because I’d hoped he would come around. But given that it’s been three months since…” She took a deep breath. “We’ve discovered that adding an Alihotsy draught to the potion used to treat stroke patients can greatly stimulate their brains and make them more responsive. We use this sparingly, of course, because we want their minds to heal at their own rate. Some Mind Healers use this same treatment because it has the effect of causing patients to lose their emotional inhibitions, though the results are not always positive and never predictable.”

“Is it safe for…”

“It’s completely safe for a healthy person to imbibe a small quantity, so you can perhaps discuss with Hermione about administering it. If you do choose to use it, I can calculate the proper dosage. Make sure he is in a safe environment when he takes it, and make sure you have your wands at the ready.”

Narcissa was quiet for several minutes. Then, she nodded. “I will speak to Hermione. Although it is against my instincts as his mother, this task would be better accomplished by her.”

Susan smiled. “There’s something to be said of the bravery of Gryffindors.”

“We may deem it foolhardy, but in such cases…”

“Yes. As a precaution, I can send a Portkey along with the potion. It will bring him to a private room near my office that is set up with the strongest Calming Spell and can be triggered to release a mist of Sleeping Draught.”

“I will owl once we’ve discussed it. I think the Portkey would be prudent. Now, enough of the business talk. Sandwich?”

***

Hermione’s breath came in shallow gasps as the relentless onslaught suddenly ceased and she felt Draco fumbling to remove her clothes, planting kisses hither thither as he uncovered flesh. She gathered her scattered thoughts, knowing it’d be soon nigh impossible. Well, then. Of the possible reactions that Susan had mentioned, this was the last one she’d expected from him. If she should ever make use of the potion again, she’d make sure to _not_ slip it into Draco’s dinner wine. _And_ she’d make sure they were _completely alone_ when it was administered. She blushed. She didn’t know how she’d face Narcissa in the morning. But then she grinned. When he eventually played back the events of this evening, Draco was in for another mental cleansing at Narcissa’s wistful tone when she murmured, “Just like his father” before Hermione managed to Apparate them to their suite to continue their indecorous activities in private.

There was a sudden pause. Then Draco collapsed in heaving sobs.

“Hush! It’s all right, _herunya_.” Hermione pressed kisses into his hair as he clung to her. She murmured repeatedly, “ _Silmaherunya_.”

Draco soon quieted down and struggled out of her embrace. Grabbing her shoulders, he gave her a harsh kiss and half-pleadingly demanded, “Don’t leave me!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Draco. I’m here, always.”

He didn’t seem to register her words, continuing desperately, “I can’t lose you! Not you, too! I’m already losing _him_.” A reluctant sob escaped. “I _hate_ him!” 

Hermione gasped. She cradled his head in her hands and forced him to focus. When she was sure she had his attention, she said, “Draco, I know you’re upset about the rapidity of Lucius’ declining health. It’s _not_ fair that he doesn’t get to live to old age. You’ve every right to be mad, but promise you’ll direct your anger at the situation and not your father. You can rant and rage all you want to me. Just, please don’t blame your father.”

“He brought this onto himself, following that bloody maniac! Don’t try and defend him. Even if he was somehow misled the first time, how does he justify the second? And he brought that fiend into our _home_!”

“I know he… didn’t make great decisions; his ambitions often clouded his judgement. But I _know_ he never meant you or Narcissa harm! The whole time Voldemort and the other Death Eaters were waiting for Harry in the Forbidden Forest, all he could think about was you, worrying about your safety.”

Draco snorted. “Don’t make him into a martyr like Potter. His concern was as much about saving his own skin as saving me.”

“Yes, that’s true, but it doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t’ve lied to Voldemort like Narcissa did.”

“How can you be so sure? He’s never had to choose.”

“He has. Do you know Karkaroff’s fate after he was hunted down and brought to Voldemort?” (Draco nodded.) “Lucius knew that was what he’d have to face if he didn’t rejoin Voldemort at the gravesite that night. And with him dead, you and Narcissa would be completely at the mercy of all of them: Voldemort, Bellatrix, Dolohov, Greyback…” (Draco shuddered.) “He never _meant_ to be trapped in Azkaban after the Ministry raid—you can blame Harry and me and the rest of us for that.” 

Draco snorted. “Father’s imprisonment finally opened my eyes to what was really going on. I’d blindly believed everything he and his friends spewed: blood purity, superiority, a better world, immortality, all of it! Well, the immortality has become true, in a twisted way: Voldemort’s still able to kill from beyond the veil. Though I’m sure he’ll be most disappointed when the last of his branded minions joins the ranks.”

“He won’t. But we will.” (Draco snorted again but didn’t reply.) Hermione hesitated but then asked softly, “Draco, do you love your dad?”

 **“YES!”**

Hermione grabbed him in a fierce hug. Even Veritaserum couldn’t’ve wrenched a more unwilling yet devastating reply. 

She eventually loosened her hold. “Well, shouldn’t we forgive those we love?”

“But I’ll be giving him _everything_! I’ll have nothing left!”

“Is that what you really believe? Does that mean I’ll wake up one day and discover you don’t love me anymore because it’s been emptied out of you?”

“Of course not! That’s completely different!”

“How? I find our bond getting stronger all the time. And I’m constantly falling in love with you again when you’re not being a prat. Don’t forget: we started off with you thinking you _had to_ hate me because of my heritage. Well, you managed to turn that around. You can do the same with the resentments you have against Lucius. And once you let go, even if you can’t hold onto his physical being, you’ll always have the bond between you. I’ve seen the two of you look at each other when the other’s not aware; it’s not animosity I see in either of your eyes.”

Draco was silent. Finally, he sighed and raked his hair. “I don’t hate him,” he said in a defeated voice, “but he makes it so hard to love him without hurting.”

Hermione peppered his face with light kisses. “He’s just as afraid of hurting you whenever he tries to show how much he loves you. Ever since Voldemort overshadowed your lives, it’s been a constant battle to keep you safe. And Voldemort has always scorned love, so it was a tight rope Lucius had to walk.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re so defensive of his actions! I can see Mum trying to explain, but he wouldn’t’ve cared a wit for your well-being if Voldemort had won and you became collateral damage.”

Hermione gave a small smile and caressed his cheek. “The day that his condition stabilized, he and I had a long talk. He opened up about his feelings, especially those of regret in regards to you. He was afraid you wouldn’t give him the opportunity to tell you directly.” (A flash of pain crossed Draco’s face.) “Susan has already warned that this plateau is the final phase before… the inevitable. Draco, it’s already approaching the two month limit. Can you not allow your dad some peace in the end, the knowledge that you won’t hold his mistakes against him, that you’ve let go?”

Draco sighed and bowed his head to touch hers. “How? You know Dad and I have never been that great at conversing. And even with him dying, I don’t think either of us can spill it all out without feeling embarrassed for behaving like a pair of Gryffindorks. I don’t even know why I’m not blushing from all this unfiltered emotion. I _know_ you haven’t put Veritaserum in my drink.”

“I haven’t. Besides, I know you have a means of guarding against its effects once you’re aware of it. Drat your adeptness at compartmentalizing! Right now, let’s not worry about the how and when. Start with actually crossing the threshold and sitting with him. Even if you have the most polite, inane conversation about Quidditch or the weather, it’s a first step. Your presence can say a lot more than can be put into words. Can we at least try that?”

“All right.”

“I love you, Draco.”

“I know.”

“Prat.”

“ _‘To give and not expect return, that is what lies at the heart of love.’_ ”

Hermione huffed. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Proved you tidied up nicely during the Yule Ball? Ow!” 

Draco pinioned her arms against his chest and stoppered any retort with an insistent kiss. When her desire to throttle him turned into the need to divest him of his clothes, he whispered against her neck, “I love you, too.”

***

“If I didn’t know you were telling the truth, I’d never think it possible! A _Hufflepuff_ suggesting using a not-strictly legal potion to coerce a _Slytherin_ into confessing his feelings—and a _Malfoy_ to boot? Well, I suppose a Lovegood as Minister for Magic is no longer beyond the realms of possibility!”

“Are all Slytherins so melodramatic or am I so blessed to be acquainted with the two known exceptions?”

“But I just can’t wrap my mind around it! The sentimentality he shows toward you is already not in line with the Draco I’ve known my entire life, but _his father_ … and you really _know_ that _Lucius_ —all right, all right...” Pansy held up her hands in placation. “What did you put in the Pensieve that was strong enough to unravel generations of Malfoy impassivity?”

“The happiest memories Narcissa and I have of both of them interacting. Some that were completely forgotten until they viewed them together. We don’t know what they said, and we don’t want to. Whatever it was is enough. I don’t expect them to suddenly be like Harry and my adorable godson, but there’s an understanding that exists now.”

“You were wasted in Gryffindor, Hermione. Although I suppose you wouldn’t’ve ended up befriending Harry had you Sorted elsewhere. I wonder whom we would’ve married instead?”

“You’d have to be a different person to Sort anywhere else. So, your choice is inevitable.”

Pansy grinned ruefully. “Gryffindors: relentless and single-minded.”

“I’d like to think we would’ve become friends even sooner if I weren’t in Gryffindor, so I’d’ve known Harry by association in any case. I suppose I would’ve married a fellow Ravenclaw. Draco and I would likely have ignored each other completely in school.”

“Well, I know Draco would’ve ended up bitter and miserable, married to some pure-blood bint.”

Hermione snorted. “There’s no need to insult them all. You and Narcissa prove there’s hope for the lot.”

“Narcissa was wasted in Slytherin. I wonder if she insisted on being Sorted into our House.”

“I’ll ask her.”

“Do. And since there’s no hope of my little James Sorting into anything other than Gryffindor, I’m hoping my daughter won’t put me to shame.”

“A little girl! Does Harry know?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping my subversive actions will be picked up by my unborn.”

“Poor Harry! A little girl _and_ a Slytherin. He’ll become a complete slave. Not that he isn’t already.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean! And let’s not be hypocritical, Ms Pot. Draco is an honorary Hufflepuff where you’re concerned.” 

“I shall cultivate those tendencies, then. Qualities like kindness and loyalty are what allowed us to rebuild and recover after the devastation Voldemort and his Death Eaters wrought. The Ministry could easily have used a dictatorial approach; it’s certainly been proved to be a quicker method of attaining social order, historically.”

“Yes, Professor Granger. Point taken. You know what would really heal their bond? A new Malfoy.”

Hermione groaned. “Not this again.”

“You’ve been married five years. And you’re not getting any younger. I want our children to grow up together. They hardly have playmates their age because people like the Weasel clan repopulated right out of school. Even the Weasel King’s youngest will be starting Hogwarts soon.”

“Don’t the Greengrass sisters have children around James’ age?”

“Have you met those brats? Don’t change the subject. Are you and Draco even _trying_?”

“Harry’s single-mindedness is really rubbing off. Yes, we’re trying, although taking care of Lucius and Narcissa isn’t exactly conducive to getting into the mood. Don’t get your hopes up too high. We know that there’s a huge possibility we won’t succeed.”

“Why not? You’re both healthy, and it’s not as if you’re in your decrepitude.”

“Witches may have a longer fertility period than nonmagical women, but the probability of conceiving still decreases with age. I’ll be forty in September.”

“So, take a potion.”

“I’m allergic to it.”

Pansy smacked her forehead. Then she asked, “You’re sure you’re both all right with the possibility?” 

Hermione was touched by the concern in her voice. She nodded. 

“You’re going to be godparents to our baby girl as well, you know.”

Hermione beamed and hugged Pansy. “Have you narrowed down the names yet?”

“Yes. No flower names, no constellations, no goddesses.”

“And your mum’s agreed to that?”

Pansy scoffed. “She couldn’t stop me marrying a Gryffindor.”

“ _Touché_.”

“If you _do_ succeed, _don’t_ follow the Malfoy naming traditions.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have no intention of doing so. And if Draco decides to be stubborn, I’ll casually mention how popular it is to name one’s offspring after The Boy Who Couldn’t Die.”

“ _Now_ whose husband is rubbing off?”

***

Hermione and Narcissa stood side-by-side as they peered out the window into the gardens. Lucius and Draco sat at a distance, their backs toward the house, deep in conversation. The two witches periodically smiled at each other.

“I shall be adding this memory to the Pensieve,” Narcissa said quietly. “That was a brilliant idea, Hermione. I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for suggesting it.”

“Oh, please, Narcissa, there’s no need! I’m just glad we managed to trick them both into it!”

“We would probably have needed more devious means if they were in full use of their faculties.”

“Indeed. I wonder what they’re discussing?”

Could they but hear, the two Malfoy wives would have been sorely tempted to slap father and son upside their heads.

“I can’t believe Germany lost to Fiji. Hadn’t Werner recently been named Goalkeeper of the Year?”

“He was out with injury from the match against Spain. Schreiber substituted.”

“And Wales and Scotland are already out of the running. Pity. I hope you haven’t wasted any Galleons on seats for the final match, _trognon_. I doubt I’ll be up for it.”

“I haven’t. It’d be tedious without your lovely commentary, in any case.” 

Lucius smiled tiredly and gently ruffled Draco’s hair. His arm fell and he coughed. He gratefully sipped the proffered glass of water. Then, he muttered a spell upon the glass and huffed in amusement at the reflected faces. “They’re still Petrified by the window.”

“Of course they are. This is your fault, you know, Dad. If _you_ hadn’t married an easily overwrought woman, _I_ wouldn’t’ve felt the need to imitate.”

“Oh? And here I was lamenting your nasty inherited streak of independence that your grandfather introduced into the family through his injudicious choice of bride.”

Draco snorted. “You’d better hope it skips generations, then.”

Lucius chuckled. He sighed.

Draco eyed him warily. “We’ve been trying, Dad.”

“I know. You’ve always been so desperate to please me. A sad trait all Malfoy heirs seem to inherit.”

“Perhaps a female heir could break that? I know it hasn’t happened in generations, but I wouldn’t put the possibility past Hermione. She’s determined to curse me with daughters, you know.”

Lucius smiled wistfully. “A flock of little girls with golden ringlets does sound lovely.”

“The peacocks might get jealous.”

“They’d more likely chase away any suitors at the gates.”

Draco groaned. “And we’re surrounded by Weasels!”

Lucius mock-glared. “If any great-grandchild of mine has ginger hair, there will be a reckoning.”

“Perhaps he or she could possess the ability to change hair colour to whichever best suits the predominating emotion.”

Lucius shook his head. “Better that than a lusty cackle and penchant for insanity, I suppose.”

Draco shuddered. “I’m glad she was barren.”

“She wasn’t. She claimed they were all stillborn, but I suspect they were smothered to death. There were rumours that she used the corpses for ‘magic enhancement’, but I don’t believe so. Her abilities didn’t seem at all more powerful subsequently. I think she merely considered motherhood a nuisance.”

Draco gaped in horror.

“Don’t let your mother know I’ve told you this. It… has always been a sore point with her, Bella’s fecundity.”

“I don’t suppose adopting another woman’s child fathered by one’s husband, like the Greengrasses, was ever a possibility.”

Lucius snorted. Draco grinned, knowing his father had never strayed. It was a known fact among their lot, one treated with derision among the men and envy among their wives.

“While it happened rarely, when your mother lost her temper, even Bella was afraid. Try to stay in Hermione’s good graces, boy. You don’t want your mother passing on more weapons for your slow demise.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. Even without Mum’s tactics, I’d be at her mercy just from the sheer numbers who’d rush to her defence. I’m sure even Greyback would’ve fled before such an onslaught.”

“’Tis a pity that such ludicrous behaviour is considered a virtue in their minds. But history has shown that brute force is needed to set up the foundations upon which cooler minds can then rule.”

“So, having a cunning Gryffindor by my side, I could rule the world.”

“If you so choose. I would advise that you put _her_ face at the forefront. We Malfoys have always been best at pulling strings.”

“I’ll leave the paperwork to her as well. She has quite the knack for it.”

Lucius chuckled. 

A sudden coughing fit adjourned their _tête-a-tête_. 

When he was back in his room, with Narcissa tucking him in, Lucius told her, “The family has survived another calamity. Our name may yet reach new heights.”

“So long as he maintains his happiness, I wouldn’t care if he were the last of the line.”

Lucius sighed. “If he is satisfied with only that, then I do not wish more for him.”

Narcissa kissed his cheek. “He will do well in this new social order. Hermione and I will see to it.”

“Try not to beat him too soundly.”

Narcissa laughed.

***

It had been an exhausting day.

Hermione had finally convinced Narcissa to retire to her rooms after the last of the older guests had departed. Draco had holed himself in the library ever since they’d returned from the gravesite, and she knew to leave him be until everyone had gone.

Grabbing a glass of refreshment, she joined the small group of friends who’d supported her through the final days. 

Ron pulled her to sit beside him. “So, ’Mione, now that ol’ Lucius is dead, you can tell us about his illness. Ow! What’d I say?”

Parvati rolled her eyes. “You’ve been hanging around my brothers too often, Ronald. Pretty soon, you could be wearing my mum’s saris and no one could tell the difference.”

Hermione chuckled. “It’s all right, Parvati. It was never a secret. I just assumed that all of you knew; thought it _must’ve_ been reported in the _Prophet_ in all its glorious details, given the victims.”

“You have Susan and her colleagues to thank for taking their oaths of patient confidentiality so seriously, Hermione.”

Hermione grasped Susan’s hands. “Thank you, Susan, for everything you’ve done! If ever we can help you with anything…”

“Oh, just doing of my job, Hermione. I didn’t give Lucius any special treatment. And despite what people have said about him, he was a very cooperative patient. You really should thank Pansy and Harry for keeping the _Prophet_ in check. It was Pansy’s idea to send a jar containing a dead beetle to Skeeter the first of every month for a year after rumours about Dolohov began circulating.”

“Well, thank you, Mr and Mrs Potter, on behalf of all the families.”

“I should show you the look on Skeeter’s face when she opened the first package.” Pansy smirked. “I bribed one of the _Prophet_ ’s photographers to take it.”

Hermione laughed. “I suppose you told Harry about all this _after_ the fact?”

Harry rolled his eyes but became too preoccupied to talk when Pansy thrust baby Sophie into his arms.

“So, tell us already, ’Mione.” 

“Well, Ron, after Harry defeated Voldemort, the Dark Marks on all the Death Eaters of the inner circle turned into a faded scar. Everyone assumed the Mark had lost all its potency. While that turned out to be true in that it wasn’t the direct _cause_ of the illness, the deterioration _began_ with its creation. 

“In order to successfully implant the Dark Mark, the Death Eater had to perform an _Avada_ during the ritual. Of course, the victim was always a Muggle because that reinforced their hypocritical pure-blood doctrine. You all know that casting the Killing Curse splinters the soul. That doesn’t merely have psychological consequences but physical ones as well. The wizard’s magic becomes less stable and less potent with repeated castings. It’s like reverting to a dangerous form of the Accidental Magic we experienced as children.

“Our magic is integral to our survival and well-being. To have it thus destabilized means our bodies are more susceptible to all manner of illnesses. The Healers do a marvellous job of treating a whole variety of ailments, allowing us a much longer lifespan than nonmagical people, but there’s no ‘cure’ for aging and death; our bodies cannot fight against such afflictions as heart disease, stroke, cancer, and so on, chronic ailments that all humans suffer because we are now longer-lived than our ancestors.

“So, for the Death Eaters, a normal lifespan was denied them because their bodies were not whole. What cause of death they each succumbed to varied depending on which organ system shut down last. And it became very obvious that those who’d killed more often or—and this is just speculation on my part—performed the other Unforgiveables in concert were the first to suffer deterioration. 

“And Lucius was the last of those with a Dark Mark to die.”

The ensuing silence was broken by Susan. “I think you’re right about the combination of Unforgiveables being a factor, Hermione. Another factor is length of time spent in Azkaban with the Dementors. I’ve been thinking for a while that that’s the reason why the Cruciatus that Bellatrix Lestrange inflicted on you has had no lasting harm. I don’t know how long Neville’s poor parents were subjected to it, but, well, you see what it can do. Those who have survived Bellatrix’s curse, like the Longbottoms, are the most severe cases St. Mungo’s has ever treated.”

“So, if Mum hadn’t killed her during the battle, crazy Bella would’ve died like the others?” Ron made a face. “Well. She didn’t deserve to be so lucky.”

Hermione patted Ron’s shoulder. “I can’t disagree, Ron, but I don’t think I’d wish such a demise on anyone. Lucius was lucky: his heart gave out suddenly. One of those who died in Azkaban lingered for a long time and was screaming in agony until the end.”

Another thoughtful silence followed.

Harry broke the period of contemplation. “On that happy note, I’m afraid we need to head home. If we don’t get James and the baby washed and fed in a timely manner, they’ll never sleep. You know to find me if you need anything, ’Mione?”

Hermione hugged Harry and then Pansy, who whispered, “Give Draco a kiss for me. If he mopes about too much and gets on your nerves, I’ll fix him.”

“Thank you, both.” Hermione then cuddled her goddaughter. “I’ll kiss you now, sweet Sophie, and ask that another one be given to your big brother for me. You’ll make sure he gets it, won’t you?”

Hermione said farewells to Ron and Parvati and, finally, Susan. She gave some final instructions for the tidying up to one of the house-elves and went to check on Draco.

She found him sitting in one of the armchairs, staring at a picture of Lucius and a very young version of himself. Neither were paying attention to the camera, too occupied with amusing each other.

She draped herself about his shoulders and heard him murmur, “This was on his desk. I don’t remember ever seeing it there. When I was growing up, the frame held a picture of the three of us posing for an official portrait. I remember Dad scolding me to look at the camera and Mum promising some treat if I’d stop squirming. After Voldemort took over the house, Dad hid it somewhere.”

“Lucius had this in the drawer of his bedside table. Narcissa asked me to bring it back here when we were… tidying up.”

Draco made a noise the cross between a snort and a sob. “He could never tolerate being accused of sentimentality. Hexed Theo’s dad once.”

“That just goes to show what nonsense all that ‘stiff upper lip’ attitude is.”

“Perhaps, but the disgusting shows of affection that both Potty and Weasel King display are too much. The seeds of rioting and anarchy therein planted.”

“You’re such a drama queen. And a hypocrite. I’ve seen you with both James and Teddy.”

“Isn’t my duty to raise them.”

“You mean you just don’t want to be seen as ‘mean Uncle Draco’.”

“As if _you’re_ so strict with them.”

“At least I insist on proper manners. And they know that when I say ‘no’, I mean it.”

“Ha! You’re the perfect Malfoy wife after all: so long as they say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and have impeccable social etiquette, they can be as snotty as they wish.”

“Prat! You deserve a handful of girls who’ve had their training from Pansy.”

“Mum would love that.” Draco gave her an odd look as he said, “One of the last things Dad said was that I’d make a great father and that he was sorry he’d miss seeing it.”

“I… how did…” Hermione blushed.

Draco put aside the frame and manoeuvered Hermione into his lap. He gave her a keen look and asked, “Something you’re keeping from me, Mrs Malfoy?”

“I… well… It’s so early, I didn’t…” She took a few calming breaths, and then, smiling into his eyes, she whispered, “We’re going to have a baby.”

A hiccupping laugh escaped his lips. Draco pulled her into a long, lingering kiss. 

When he finally released her, he sighed. “Poor Dad. At least grandfather knew me before he died. And he didn’t even get to grandfather’s age.”

“But he died knowing any grandchildren he’d have were in safe hands.”

“How could he not? With mum and you having stood up to Voldemort?”

She slapped his arm lightly. “Prat! You know what I mean!”

He kissed her again.

**Author's Note:**

>  _“To give and not expect return, that is what lies at the heart of love.”_ Oscar Wilde
> 
> And thanks to the Dramione author (I’m sorry I’ve forgotten who you are!) whose idea of sending an empty jar to Skeeter was the inspiration for my borrowed version.


End file.
